


By Any Other Name

by Severina



Category: Dawn of the Dead (2004)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-17
Updated: 2005-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:57:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was Monica who found the small packet of seeds, stuck at the back of the staff locker of a girl with the very fitting name of Rose Foster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> AU, since they don't leave the mall.

It was Monica who found the small packet of seeds, stuck at the back of the staff locker of a girl with the very fitting name of Rose Foster. In life, Rose had been a part-timer at _Gaylen Ross_, and judging from the other contents of her locker, she had enjoyed raves, music featuring angry Germans shouting at each other, and gardening. In death -- or rather undeath, CJ thought grimly, watching as Monica fingered the tiny packet -- Rose was rather limited to shuffling and moaning. Oh, and searching for warm living flesh to chew on.

It wasn't like the mallies -- Monica grimaced whenever CJ used Nicole's favourite term, and that made him use it all the more -- needed anything from the lockers. The stores in the mall were amply stocked with almost everything they could need, bullets notwithstanding. They could survive for years.

Years.

But when he'd come up with the idea to search the lockers, it was met with fervent enthusiasm. Turns out they didn't _need_ much, but there was a lot they wanted. CD's of show tunes for Terry, of all people. Ana had an addiction to cashews. And everyone -- well, almost everyone -- was on the search for the ever elusive and most cherished prize of all: condoms.

Monica saw CJ watching her, and made a show of shrugging and flipping her hair as she casually pocketed the envelope before getting involved in a heated discussion with Nicole over the merits of Rammstein. CJ, who thought most music produced after 1979 was a waste of time and who harboured a secret never-to-be-revealed adoration for The Carpenters, just leaned back in his chair and resumed flipping through the six-month-old issue of _Cosmo_.

* * *

Monica planted the seeds in a planter at the far corner of the roof, in the sunlight near the volleyball net. Considering there was almost always someone on the roof, CJ wasn't sure how she managed to do it unseen. He pictured her sneaking up in the middle of the night, casting furtive glances over her shoulder to ensure she wasn't followed, hugging the planter and seeds to her chest. Then again, maybe he was reading too many mysteries from _BookMark_.

He never saw Monica water it. Or pay it any attention whatsoever. And no-one else seemed to notice it at all.

CJ noticed. And after a time, he took to actively watching it. Watching her. Maybe it was the mysteries, but he wanted to catch her in the act.

Maybe there was something more. _Cosmo_ or no _Cosmo_, CJ wasn't sure of much anymore.

So somehow he found himself fumbling around in _Hallowed Grounds_ at five in the morning, attempting to make a chai latte because that was her favourite. And then creeping up the stairs like something out of a bad gangster film. He pushed the door open carefully, glancing as always toward the far-off building housing Andy's Gun Works. It had been months since he'd disappeared, but he never stopped looking for Andy. None of them did.

The distant rooftop remained barren of life.

CJ took a few steps onto the roof, and found Monica just where he expected. Crouched over the terracotta planter, wreathed in shadows. Still clad in her silk pyjama bottoms; oversized t-shirt rustling gently in the slight breeze. He opened his mouth -- to scold her, to tease her, to... he didn't know.

"Have you noticed that we don't even hear them anymore?"

Monica's voice, still husky from sleep, startled him. And whatever he'd planned to say was lost. All that came out in response was a muffled, "Huh?"

Monica raised her face to his. "Them." She gestured with her head toward the edge of the roof, the parking lot, the teeming mass of former humanity that seethed below.

CJ's eyes followed her glance, though they were situated too far back on the roof for him to actually see what she was referring to. But he didn't need to. The images were burned on his retina. And yes, she was right. In a few short months, walking rotting corpses had become just another part of everyday life.

"We've become acclimatized," he said.

"I don't want to become acclimatized to dead things," Monica said. She rose, pushing back her hair, and he realized what was different about her. For the first time since he'd known her, her face was bare of makeup. She looked younger. Almost… vulnerable. She hugged her arms to her chest. "I want to... I miss..."

"Life," he finished.

"Life," she nodded.

There seemed to be more he should say, or more he should do. But in the end, CJ merely handed over her mug, and together they watched the sun rise.


End file.
